Bite the Bait
by kbeto
Summary: Stiles wishes to be in an alternate universe where he doesn't have to always act as the bait. Unfortunately for him, Beacon Hills isn't /exactly/ a Hanna-Barbera production. Sterek SA, everyone's alive, rated T for a bit of violence.


_Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Teen Wolf universe. I just feel strongly about anything related to Sterek. *wheezes* Should I also say that I don't own Scooby-Doo and his friends?_

_A/N: Whoa, I finally got off my arse and wrote something for this fandom. It's a bit random, it doesn't really have a plot, and I just wanted to have fun writing it (you've been warned)._

Bite the Bait

Sometimes Stiles can't help but wish he were trapped inside a Scooby-Doo episode. Can you imagine how easier his life would be, if only all the supernatural shit happening all the time was just some machination of some old dude's mind, trying to get some kind of financial advantage over somebody else? Stiles definitely can. Not to mention that having a talking dog would be the most awesome thing to ever happen in one's life. _So fucking rad._

"Anyone wants to remind me again of the part where why I'm the one chosen for this? Because I'm fairly sure it's a minimal detail that can get me _killed_," he looks from Lydia to Derek, eyebrows arched up in wonder.

"We need somebody to play the bait for those vampires," Lydia inspects her nails. "You're the obvious choice here."

Obvious choice? Come on, it's Shaggy and Scooby that should serve as bait! Not Stiles. He's good with plans and sarcasm, and _definitely_ a Velma, prepared to keep things real with a _"you stop that"_ to any villain that comes their way, or just bribe his friends with Scooby Snacks. _Yup_, he's decidedly Velma.

"And why not you?" Stiles regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. His stupid, big mouth that can't keep some things confined inside his brain, guarded from the outer world. If he listens closely, he can even hear John Mayer's "Stupid Mouth" play in the background. Or just inside his head. Whatever.

Lydia glares. If anything, her eyes seem to go ablaze, like she she's hearing someone call her dumb, or anything of the same nature. "Because I'm the one who came up with the plan, and you must be crazy if you think I'm going to risk my neck here."

"What about Allison? This is about vampires right?" Stiles shifts his gaze from Lydia to Allison. She's doing some markings on the map over the table, when she stops to look up at the mention of her name. "She's like a real-life Buffy! Why can't she go and do that whole _I'm-a-motherfucking-slayer _thing on their blood-sucking asses?"

Isaac chuckles a bit at that. Every pair of eyes falls upon him and he has to bite his knuckles to suppress a laugh, Scott elbowing him in the ribs with a tight-lipped _"dude"_. Erica, though, doesn't go as far to hide how amusing it is to watch Stiles trying to chat himself out of that situation.

"Come one, Stiles! I heard they only take really cute boys," she plays with her hair, resting her head on Boyd's shoulder. "Doesn't that flatters you?"

"It's going to _flatten_ me, after they drained all my blood!"

"Stiles, everyone's going to help. We're not letting anything bad happen to you," Derek speaks, surprising everyone. It's safe to admit he even surprises himself, but that's besides the point. "Vampires can't drink werewolf blood and they learned to disguise themselves through the times. It's not like we can just sniff them."

"You all better make up to me after this Twilight shit is over," Stiles grunts, breaking eye contact with Derek after someone clears his throat (Isaac, he thinks). "If I get killed I'll come back to hunt your asses for the eternity."

"If you replace that 'up to' with 'out with', I'm sure that Derek will happily oblige," Erica grins, making a 'lips are sealed' gesture when Derek snarls at her.

~#~

The party isn't bad, Stiles has to admit. Not bad at all, if he's really honest with himself. A lot of people his age drinking, dancing, chatting, making out... okay, maybe it's not that great of a party when he's just going around, dodging overly affective couples that can't find a room –Stiles would like to see them succeed in that, being in a park and everything– anywhere and that are too much intoxicated to be able to tell who they are with.

It's not that his mind goes there because he want to, but Stiles finds himself thinking about Erica's joke. Making out with Derek wouldn't be _such_ a bad thing. _Holy fuck_, who does he think he's kidding? It would be the best thing to happen ever since curly fries got invented! As much as he has a baggage and fucks up with impressive regularity, Derek Hale is still the hottest thing Stiles ever laid his eyes upon. Only his eyes, sadly.

"So hot," he daydreams about Derek's abs, not realising he's speaking out loud.

"Thanks. I was expecting something more like a 'hey' or 'how you're doing', to be honest."

Stiles gives a little leap in his seat (he's sitting? Since when?), actually wiping invisible drool from his mouth. "Oh, uh– hi! I didn't see you coming," he holds his hand out haphazardly to the blonde sitting beside him. "I'm Stiles."

"Susan," she chuckles from behind her hand. "You're funny. What a guy like you are doing by all by himself?"

Whoa, someone _actually_ finds him funny and the least interesting. _Okay, don't fuck this up. _He smiles, chanting to himself _"do not flail"_ over and over. May tonight be the night Stilinski ups his game.

~#~

"_Allison, do you have visual contact? What's happening there?"_

"Stiles is chatting some girl up and he's too far from Lydia and her group," she replies to Scott on her communicator. "It may be one of our targets."

"_God, what's Stiles thinking?"_ A sigh follows on Allison's earpiece. She can almost hear Scott facepalm himself. _"I'll tell Derek and the others, keep your eyes on him, okay?"_

"Will do."

~#~

"I'm sorry, little buddy," Stiles speaks in the general direction of his groin. "The night looked so promising, and here we are to serve as vampire snack. You won't be playing tonight."

He's not sure how things got ugly in just a few minutes, but it definitely happened. A mysterious fire coming from the DJ pick-up spread through the decoration and in instants people were running in all directions, suddenly sobered up enough to try to save their lives, despite of being too tipsy even before the drinks started being served.

Stiles got separated from Lydia, Boyd and Erica, unconsciously running with Susan to somewhere he can't even recognise now in the dark. He can tell they're inside an abandoned house –he can see old, broken furniture around him– tied to a rather uncomfortable chair, and that's about everything he knows. Oh, besides _fucking_ Susan having _red_ eyes and _fangs._ He almost forgot this _insignificant_ detail.

"_This is where Daphne and Fred come to rescue the others, guys. Guys?"_ is what hears himself saying in his mind, but all that really comes out are alternate _"hmm"_ and _"uhnn"_, since he's gagged and all that jazz.

And obviously he gets no response whatsoever. Yeah, he _really_ wishes he could be inside a Scooby-Doo episode. Maybe in some alternate reality he is Velma, and all the shit that goes down in Beacon Hills is nothing more than people trying to misappropriate, bank robbers, secret organizations, you know, anything _human._

"He's with the werewolves, you should feed on him quickly, Your Highness!" Susan enters the room with a fairly decrepit man in tow, pointing to Stiles. "We need to leave very soon."

In any other situation that he would go for some good ol' flailing and freak out a bit, it's true. Not this time, though. Stiles is a man in charge of his own destiny, he knows better than just react like some scared teenager. He's a _man_ that has confronted with all types of mythical beings and creatures and of the night –he laughs, remembering that time a leprechaun talked Scott into searching for its lost treasure and they all almost ended being eaten by a tribe of flesh-eating gnomes. It also helps that he's tied.

"This one has a pleasant smell, Susan," the creepy grandpa sniffs the air. "So many _centuries_ since I last tasted a virgin."

"And it shall remain this way."

Stiles' ears perk up at that familiar voice, Derek breaking in through the ceiling, wolfed out and claws ready to lacerate something. Stiles rolls his eyes, he's never going to get over this diva side of Derek, always waiting the last minute to make a triumphant entrance. Don't think he's not glad that somebody's there to save his behind, because he is. He just could go without with all the _"I'm the Alpha"_ stuff.

Susan seems to forget the good moments they spent together and lungs at Stiles with her fangs out, ready for a teenage snack. Derek moves faster and pierces her guts with his claws; he gets a bit territorial when somebody else threatens the teenager with their fangs. It's a Sourwolf thing, as Stiles likes to put it.

"That's not enough to kill me, wolf boy," the vampire girl smiles.

"I beg to differ," Derek's eyes flash red and smoke starts coming off from Susan's abdomen. He retreats his claw to show glass smashed inside his palm. "Seems like your kind doesn't like garlic much. This one is a special mix," he smiles.

"Accursed wolf!"

A bright flame engulfs her, rapidly vanishing in the air. Stiles is glad that for once they won't have to explain to his father why he's always found everywhere that there's a heap of bodies. He watches as Derek walks to him and cuts off the ropes bounding him with a single slash.

"Look, Sourwolf, I'm glad about you saving me –and I really mean it– and I don't want to be a complete downer but you let grandpa Dracula wannabe escape! What kind of hero are you? Are you planning on using me as bait again, because I swear to Go–"

A rough kiss silences Stiles blabbering mouth. It's a bit desperate, hungry, needy –and it sure will leave him a beard burn– though Stiles doesn't care about that, not when he's attacking Derek's mouth back, like the two are in a tongue competition to see who can reach the other's tonsils first.

"Shut up," Derek finally says. "Scott and Isaac will take care of that last one, Allison and Lydia's group already eliminated his minions."

"Then... this is Breaking Dawn for us, right?"

"Stop with the Twilight references."

"I wonder how you do know it _is_ a Twilight reference," Stiles grins, rubbing a hand across his chin. The thought of Derek reading or watching Twilight made him strangely happy; he could blackmail the werewolf for the rest of their lives.

"Because," a flash of teeth punctuates Derek's pause, "that's all you do. Let's go home."

"I wonder if we can try this again?" Stiles' hand gestures between them. "That kiss was awesome."

"Don't make me regret saving you."

Stiles doesn't want to be Velma anymore, no. He finds that he's more inclined to be Daphne, sneaking around with Fred whenever the plan involves the gang splitting up. And what a _fantastic_ Fred to his Daphne he got.

~Fin~


End file.
